


Nothing Worthwhile

by DixieDale



Category: Hogan's Heroes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-03
Updated: 2018-09-03
Packaged: 2019-07-06 02:50:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15876960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DixieDale/pseuds/DixieDale
Summary: Sometimes he though the worst thing about being a prisoner of war was the feeling of being irrelevant.  Well, no, not the worst thing, of course; there were many, many things much worse.  Still, Louie LeBeau was having a difficult time overcoming his current feeling of uselessness.  Sometimes it seemed there was very little he did that was really worthwhile.  Take today for example . . .





	Nothing Worthwhile

Louie LeBeau lay on his bunk, sulking. Today was July 14 - a holiday, if only for him, as the sole Frenchman in the barracks. Fete Nationale - Fete de la Federations - two holidays in one. Before the war, it would have meant watching the parades on the Champs-Elysees, a day of celebration, a day complete with fine food and wine and laughter and walks through the gardens of Tuileries and listening to the many speeches telling of the glories of his beloved France - a day to remember. Here, in Stalag 13, it had been a day he would just as soon forget; another lost day, one without meaning or relevant purpose for one Louie LeBeau. Elsewhere there were men wearing the same uniform who were doing important things, fighting for La Belle France, and how had he spent the past twenty four hours??! Doing absolutely nothing that counted!! Nothing!! 

He let his mind drift over that span of time, thinking maybe, just maybe he'd missed some little something, something that made his existence worthwhile. He was pretty sure he'd come up empty-handed, but, it wasn't as if he had anything better to do; it was past lights-out and they had no mission, nothing to do but sleep and wish they were somewhere else.

{"Cooking for the boche! That is no way for a man to fight a war! You could even consider it as aiding the enemy! Even though it was only a pan of strudel to get Schultz to tell us where the guards were to be posted, whether Klink was going to spring a surprise inspection, still it is cooking for the boche!"}. His mouth was sullen, thinking of his having taken the tempting, fragrant pan into the compound, luring the information out of the old guard over a period of some fifteen minutes. {"Not that it took much luring! It only took so long because I couldn't understand what Schultz was saying because his mouth was stuffed so full! Yes, he thanked me, repeatedly. Well, I don't need the 'thanks' of any of the boche, not even one occasionally helpful, like Schultz! They are the enemy!"} He resumed his litany of the events of the past twenty-four hours.

{"So, last night at this time we were coming back from the mission to get the goods on that German major. That totally futile mission! The boche connard, of all the nights not to even leave his room! We waited there for hours, in the cold and the rain, and he never made one step toward visiting that shopkeeper he is supposedly dealing black market with. We get soaked, chilled, and all for nothing. Yes, that was VERY worthwhile, I'm sure!"} he snorted silently.

{"Then, on the way home, Andrew manages to tumble down that abandoned well! Well, if anyone could do it, it would be our Andrew! I told Pierre we should leave him there for a few minutes, just to teach him to be more careful, but Pierre frowned, most mightily, and wouldn't hear of it. He said Andrew has a problem with water, like I have a problem with small spaces. Why did I not know that? How did PIERRE know that?? Odd. We worked together and managed to get him out. It was not a very deep well; still I doubt Pierre could have managed alone - I know I certainly couldn't have. Poor Andrew was now soaked to the skin, head to toe, shivering with his teeth chattering so I'm surprised the patrols couldn't hear him from that alone; Pierre was just as wet, if only from the chest down. He was the one who went over the side to pull Andrew to his feet, let him stand on his shoulders so I could lean over the side and grasp his hands and pull him up while Pierre pushed; the water would have been over my head, certainly, if I'd tried that. It took both Andrew and myself to get Pierre up, then. We were lucky we found that old barn; it was boarded up tight, all around, and the one door that wasn't, was locked from the inside. But there was one very small flap, probably for the farm dog; I was able to wiggle through that and unlatch the door from the inside. The old blankets inside were musty and filled with grain dust, but they were enough to get us dried off. And the old clothes in that trunk, never stylish, fit well enough that we at least had something not wet to put back on. The rain stopped, luckily. It was still a long trek back to camp, but at least it was a drier one than it could have been."}

LeBeau blinked into the darkness. {"Well, yes, I suppose THAT was worthwhile, that I was there was important. Pierre required my help to get Andrew free of the well, then Andrew needed me to help get Pierre out; and neither of them could have fit through that small opening into the barn. So, I suppose . . ."}

{"Still, it wasn't like fighting in a pitched battle against the Boche!"} he pouted into the darkness. {"Of course, when we returned, I did brew that special tea for the both of them. Well, mostly for Pierre, as I could tell his lungs were starting to close up, but he is so stubborn, he wouldn't have taken it unless I had made enough for Andrew as well. No one else would have known where I kept it hidden, or known just how to make it so it was most effective; probably no one else who could have coaxed and bullied him into drinking it. Truly, it is unlikely anyone else would have thought of it, and it was only Andrew and myself who caught that slight wheeze, the way Pierre paused as he tried to catch his breath, as if it was painful. And, with the double drenching, it could not have done Andrew any HARM to drink the tea. They both seem to be fine today, other than the bruises Andrew collected in the fall."}. He shook himself resolutely. {"Still, it was just a pot of tea, that's all!"}

{"And today? Oh, my great and glorious contribution of this day was to stage a huge quarrel with Miller in front of the Kommandant's office, so that Pierre and Andrew would slip in the window and photograph that set of papers in Klink's safe. ANYONE could have done that!! True, the Kommandant seems to find the French language more baffling than English, especially when it is shouted so rapidly, me in French, Miller in the rather different French he says is spoken in his Quebec, and it added to his confusion, kept him focused entirely on us longer than otherwise might have been possible. Oh, the look on his face when, after Pierre gave the thumbs-up, we stopped yelling at each other, shook hands and walked away, Miller's arm over my shoulders! Ah la la! The Colonel did seem pleased at those photographs, and the escort came to pick up those documents right afterwards, so we would not have gotten another chance at them."}. He heaved a deep sigh, wishing he'd come up with something wonderful to account for his day though, something only HE could have done. But there was nothing, unfortunately, nothing that would justify him saying the past twenty-four hours were a personal success.

{"But that was all, other than pulling together bits and pieces of food we had stashed away and fixing the evening meal for the barracks. It did turn out surprisingly well, even Pierre didn't complain quite so much as usual. Probably because I was unable to get any French spices to 'mess it up', as he keeps telling me I do. Bah, as if an Englishman has any concept of what good food is supposed to taste like!"}. LeBeau smiled a little, though, remembering the looks of anticipation on the men's faces, the enthusiastic, "oh boy! That smells great!" from Andrew, that little quirk of a not-quite-a-smile that indicated Pierre was enjoying what he was eating, no matter how the Englishman would have denied it. 

He lay there awhile longer, adding it all up in his mind, seeing how all the 'small' things amounted to a rather tidy sum. {"No, not as glorious as a battle. Still, not a waste, I think. Perhaps it was worthwhile after all, what I have done this day."}. He heard a low grumbling voice in the darkness, "Bloody 'ell, Louie! Give it a rest, will you? I can 'ear you thinking all the way over 'ere and it's keeping me awake! Just go to sleep. Tomorrow's another fun filled day 'ere at Stalag 13; imagine there'll be plenty of time to think then. Imagine there'll be all kinds of earth-shatteringly important things we'll be needing to do, too, just like today!!"

Louie LeBeau chuckled, "oui, mon ami. Just like today, le bon dieu willing!" and rolled over and went to sleep.


End file.
